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Her flare of outrage was quickly replaced by a determination to prove she was irresistible. Or at least that what she offered was irresistible.
They were alone. The passage was gloomy. Her hand darted to his crotch and her fingers curled around his flaccid member as she brushed up against him.
“You lie,” she said, pretending coyness.
To his mortification, he felt himself harden, her soft, victorious chuckle compounding his shame. Quickly he stepped to the side, breaking contact at the sound of voices approaching.
“So you have missed me,” she whispered over her shoulder, gloating as she disappeared around the corner. “I’ll see you later this evening, Mr. Cranbourne.”
He didn’t like the promise in her tone.
But there was no time for a rejoinder since Lord Partington was suddenly at his side saying in conspiratorial tones, “All’s in order, lad. We’ll show those upstarts that two can play at their game.”
Stephen noticed the edge had been rubbed off His Lordship’s usual sartorial elegance. Closer observation revealed that one of the buttons of his coat had not been done up but before Stephen could say anything, Hetty appeared round the corner, her plump face flushed as she cried, “Papa! Araminta and Edgar have had the most flaming row! I heard him accuse her of all manner of terrible things—all of which are quite true.”
“You look quite gleeful, Hetty,” Stephen remarked. “I daresay it’s not often the lovely Araminta’s perch is rattled. With all due respect, my lord.” He glanced quickly at His Lordship.
“True enough. I think young Hetty and that dandiprat Edgar are far better suited.” He patted his daughter’s shoulder. “Now you go off and persuade him so.”
Lord Partington raised his eyebrows at Stephen’s obvious surprise once Hetty had gone, explaining, “I once made the mistake of telling Araminta she’d be a better mistress of this place than her brother. George was like Edgar, though I hate to say it. Well, Araminta was young and she immediately elevated the idea to glory status. Truth to tell, Hetty would be a far better match for young Edgar. Araminta would go her own way and Edgar would simply turn to drink and cards, just like his father. Hetty, on the other hand, could manage him and this place a good deal better than I think anyone would credit.”
“But if the child Lady Partington is expecting is a boy
then Edgar is of no account.” Lord Partington harrumphed. “There’s a long time between now and when that time comes.” He sighed and muttered, “Fact is, at this stage I have to assume Edgar will inherit and quite frankly I’d have more faith in entrusting the reins to my head stable lad than the bacon-brained nursling who is currently my heir.” Abruptly he changed the subject. “Now do we have all in hand for this evening?” He fixed Stephen with a pair of bright, inquiring eyes as he bared his yellow teeth in a collaborative smile. “I’m sure everyone will thoroughly enjoy the entertainment I have planned.”
However when the party assembled for dinner, the atmosphere heavy due to Araminta’s tiff with Edgar and Edgar’s obvious rebuff of a red-eyed Hetty, Stephen wondered how anyone could enjoy anything tonight. He was sure he must feel the most miserable of the lot, despite the possibilities of the wager. He’d be parting from Sybil tomorrow. Perhaps forever.
He also dreaded his next encounter with Lady Julia.
What if she forced herself on him? She was wily and determined and he was, quite frankly, terrified. Not of Lady Julia herself but of her underhanded tactics. That said, there was not a chance in hell Stephen would allow himself to be alone with the woman for even one minute.
It was Sybil he was most concerned about. Several times, Stephen locked eyes with her, long enough to convey a silent message that he hoped she would interpret as solidarity. She looked edgy and unhappy. As well she might. God, she loved him. They’d shared so much during the past ten days. They were lovers in the first throes of infatuation yet right now she’d be anticipating a visit from Humphry to her bedchamber because she’d decided to play the duty card. He understood it. It was part of the reason he loved her. But his mind and body revolted at the thought of his dearest Sybil succumbing meekly to the attentions of a man she did not love when the man she did was waiting, so willingly, and so desperately, just down the passage.
Once the ladies repaired to the drawing room, the gentlemen were left alone to their port and coffee.
Sir Archie appeared very much at home. The arrogant tilt of his weak chin and the way he pursed his small mouth as he smoothed the hair back from his receding hairline made Stephen physically ill.
Earlier in the evening he’d muttered under his breath in passing, “A bet’s a bet, Cranbourne. Don’t think your benefactor can bamboozle me into going soft. He’s full of juice.” His lip had curled as he raked Stephen from head to toe. “You, however, don’t pass muster anymore now that you’re rolled up. Tonight I’d better be assured I’ll get my blunt. You thought you were a cut above but now you’re on the rocks.”
A less assured Stephen might have crowed that Archie’s wife had been very happy for Stephen to dip his wick during their last encounter and showed every enthusiasm for repeating the experience.
Instead, he merely smiled. He’d provided Lord Partington the props but His Lordship, a legendary practical joker in his youth, had insisted upon managing the rest of the action.
Stephen had no great hope of success. It was highly doubtful Sir Archie would bet the same way, in which case the whole charade was useless.
He watched the servants clear the table, his heart thudding with the fear that this was not going to end well.
Now, as he drained his coffee cup while Lord Partington, Edgar and Sir Archie drained the port decanter, his cause seemed very hopeless.
“Gentlemen, the fairer sex has departed, but I wonder if we are any the better for it.” Lord Partington steepled his fingers and smiled expansively at them. “Edgar, you’re looking very down in the mouth, boy. I think you’re only too glad to see the back of a certain young lady. Have you been bested?”
Edgar glared and Sir Archie looked surprised. Lord Partington turned to him, the corners of his mouth turned up in a sardonic smile. “Perhaps you think the male of the species the superior of the sex in every way and that it’s not possible to be bested by a mere female, eh wot?”
Stephen chuckled and Sir Archie swung round to face Stephen, his cheeks blooming. He narrowed his eyes in suspicion but as an answer was required, turned back to Lord Partington, muttering, “Males are superior to females, there’s no doubt of that, my lord.”
“That glossy wife of yours looks like she leads you a merry dance.”
Archie bristled. “Lady Julia is spirited but she is biddable. She’d not dare do something not countenanced by myself.”
